Yes, I know it probably isn’t very cool to take a picture of someone’s license plate and post it on the internet for all to see….however, a plate like this is just begging for attention! I was so intrigued by who might create such a clever personalized plate.
I mean, it’s D’Shizzit, right? Maybe it’s Snoop-D-O-double G!
Or perhaps the driver Dishes it? Like a lunchlady…or like a prosecuting attorney?
Maybe it’s about a thug robbing jewelry? ‘Dis Heist!
I could’ve interpreted it all wrong….it could simply be a creative way of spelling Diseased. That’s a shame.
Thank goodness. I’ve had many sleeps since my last dream with an Eddie appearance.
It began at a show. Not a Pearl Jam show, but a sort of lip sync/air guitar variety show. I was chosen to perform a Tom Petty tune and was pretty stoked to show my skills. I recall having an awfully strange, blonde, Paige boy wig on. Perhaps it was my actual hair. I know not.
As another performer was onstage, I spotted Eddie. I approached him knowing he would respect that I was in the show. He was Eddie… although his face was young, pink and dewy, with no beard or sexy stubble in sight. His curly hair was to his ears and it was so greasy and shiny. Each curl around his face was shorter and more defined. Maybe it was because of there being no beard on his face, but his teeth looked bigger and a little bit buck-toothed.
I approached him and said something to the effect of: Hi Eddie, I just wanted to say that I was at the show in Milwaukee. Great show, thank you.
The look of confusion and disgust on his shiny unfamiliar face sank my warm, adoring heart. I walked away, head hanging low… onto my Tom Petty performance.
On stage, I strummed the first bars of the song on my imaginary guitar and leaned into the microphone to lip the opening line of the song. To my dismay, I lipped the wrong words!! And then my guitar strumming became off beat!! The horror!!
I glanced over at Eddie after my on-stage nose dive. He shook his glistening head in even more disgust at me. I felt pitiful.
Although it wasn’t the dream I dream about… where we become best friends and he brings me on tour to entertain him… I am grateful to have his strangely shiny presence grace my brain.
So my co-worker’s boyfriend is really great at awesome craft cocktails. He makes his own bitters and puts together really interesting liquors and syrups and what not. They sound like really delicious combinations. My co-worker’s job is to name the cocktails and she told us this and asked for input.
Now, knowing me, I couldn’t help but think of really stupid names, like Pippy Pear or Spicy Brutus. But, then I thought, how hilarious would it be if the name had absolutely nothing to do with the actual cocktail and as something super mundane and completely opposite? It’s not really that funny, but I couldn’t help but cackle about it.
I mean, what if the cocktail was called the Brussel Sprout and it was really just a cider beer?
Or a drink called The Chicken Strip Basket…oh man, I’m dying over here…and it’s really just a whiskey and coke?
Or a Corn Dog…that’s a strawberry daiquiri.
Maybe there could be a plain old mimosa called the Cobb Salad.
I’m not a fan of the hangover. I am a fan of having fun.
But I dislike the spins and nausea and thirst and hunger and aches and pains of the hangover. Perhaps it’s because I’m older….but I remember a time where I would pop out of bed, ready for the day after a long night of partying. There were no hangovers.
Now it seems that if I have 3 beers, my head pounds and I can’t eat anything right away. What a loser. Maybe it’s because I’m out of practice?? Maybe. But I don’t really want to practice something that makes me thirsty when I wake up.
I’d much rather hide out at home and go to bed early.
I do like the uninhibited ridiculousness that comes with a couple of friends and a little bit of booze…unlimited giggles.